Challenge Accepted
by BregoArodShadowfax
Summary: Done for a tumblr prompt that asked for 'fluffy Amis fic', and mostly inspired by a few posts I've seen around about how Courfeyrac would be the one to hug anybody that he thought was needing one. So this was born. No pairings, just friendship/fluff with a dash of hurt/comfort.


**Title:** Challenge Accepted  
**Fandom: **Les Miserables  
**Author:** AoiTsukikage  
**Rating:** PG-13 at most  
**Characters/Pairing: **Courfeyrac-centric, but gen!Amis!fic.  
**Chapter:** 1/1  
**Word Count:** ~1950  
**Summary: **Written for a tumblr prompt for Amis!fluff, and based on a few posts I'd seen going around that Courfeyrac would be the first one to hug somebody if he thought they needed one.

**Notes: **This isn't strictly fluff, there are a couple of parts that are semi-angsty and probably fall more into the whole hurt/comfort bracket, but it's as fluffy as I could make it so I hope it's okay!

**Challenge Accepted**

It all started one early spring morning. The café was almost empty when he entered to wait until the others joined him for breakfast, which was a rarity all on its own, and the only other occupant was a man slumped over a table. A man that, he knew, hardly indulged all that often, which was the first sign that something was amiss.

He looked up when he heard Courfeyrac enter, eyes half-closed and clothing and hair in disarray, and a moment later he seemed to decide that it wasn't worth speaking as he leaned onto the table once more.

"Hard night?" he asked softly, pulling out a chair and sitting on it backwards as he stared at his friend.

"Nights like this make me question if I'm doing the right thing," was the reply, the other man's voice harsh and somewhat cold, and it worried Courfeyrac because he rarely saw his friend this way. "It was…I always wonder, when people die, if I could have done something more, if it was something that I didn't do correctly that caused them to lose their battle with death, and I…" he shivered and snapped his mouth shut, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "I should stop. You hardly need to hear this."

"Go on," Courfeyrac pressed, because while Combeferre was astonishingly level-headed most of the time, he had a feeling that the other man didn't allow himself to break down very often and, truth be told, he looked like he needed it.

"I lost two last night," Combeferre finally admitted, eyes downcast. "One of them was only a child, he'd…I'm not even sure, fallen out of a window or…" he paused to take a breath and sighed in frustration. "I couldn't do anything, but do you have any idea how…how it feels to tell somebody's parent that their _child _is dead? That …" he shook his head, unwilling to say anything more, and Courfeyrac was out of his chair and wrapping his arms around the other man an instant later.

Combeferre didn't struggle against the hold but sank against him, the tension seeping from his body after a time, and finally he straightened up and Courfeyrac let him go, moving back to his chair. "Thank you. You…that helped."

"You say that as if it's such a great shock," Courfeyrac chuckled, patting his friend's arm. "Trust me, _mon ami, _you're wonderful at what you do and every life you save is worth it, is it not?"

"It is. Of course it is. That hardly makes the ones lost any easier to accept," his tone was less bitter now, and Courfeyrac reflected that if merely giving somebody a warm embrace could improve their mood so drastically, it was something he would need to try out on all of his friends.

"And so I shall," he murmured to himself, and Combeferre gave him an appraising glance before sighing in resignation.

"I don't think I want to know," he concluded, getting a laugh in return, and Courfeyrac only hoped that his plan was as effective on all of the others.

Because he'd set himself a challenge, and he was hardly going to back down before he fulfilled it.

Anything else would be cowardly, after all.

000

Once again it began with an empty café, except this time instead of silence the room was full of the scratching noise of pen against paper, crumpled wads of it scattered on the floor and tabletop and it wasn't hard to see what the problem was.

"Writer's block?" he called across the space, and Jehan looked up quickly before balling up another sheet of parchment and tossing it almost angrily aside.

"It's been going on for far too long," the poet crossed his arms and scowled at nothing in particular, his normally gentle countenance stormy and displeased. "I'm starting to wonder if I shall ever be able to write again."

"Don't be so dramatic, Jehan," Courfeyrac walked over in a few strides and embraced the other man without even thinking, knowing that of all of them Jehan wouldn't object, and he felt the other man turn into his embrace and hold him back after a moment or two.

They broke apart and Jehan cleared his throat, looking more hopeful than he had been only minutes earlier. "What was that for?"

"I have it on good authority that my hugs are the best medicine," Courfeyrac drew himself up to his full height and Jehan laughed quietly, picking up his pen once more and looking thoughtful.

"Well, perhaps you're right. Thank you," he added, and Courfeyrac patted his shoulder and headed toward the kitchen to charm the barmaids into giving him some free breakfast.

000

"What's the matter?" he sank into a spare chair and got a rather surly glare in return from the man in question, although his companion was shaking his head as if to warn Courfeyrac off.

It was altogether too late for that, however, because Joly launched into some tragic tale of what horrible disease he'd become afflicted with overnight and how he was surely going to die sooner rather than later and that time the hug was as much to quiet him as it was to comfort him.

"You're going to catch it, you know, and then you'll be in horrible pain and die as well," the medic mumbled against his shoulder as Courfeyrac grinned and rubbed his back.

"I shall risk it, my friend. I can assure you, however, that you are _not _going to die, but I'm quite certain you already knew that," he sat back down and noticed Bossuet looking at him curiously.

"Well, perhaps. I'm feeling slightly better," Joly decided with a shrug of his shoulders. This earned him an irritated look from Bossuet, who then turned to Courfeyrac and whispered,

"You'll have to teach me how to do that, for whenever I try to convince him he's fine he still complains all day about it," he looked rather put-out and Courfeyrac leaned forward, beckoning the man closer before he murmured,

"My hugs are magic."

"Knowing you? I might not doubt that," Bossuet looked over at Joly, who had been blessedly symptom-free for all of two minutes now, and then back to Courfeyrac. "Do I get a demonstration so I can see for myself?"

"If you like," Courfeyrac obliged him, although part of his mind knew that from here on out this challenge he'd set for himself might become a little more difficult.

000

"It's just a scratch," Bahorel didn't look in the least concerned about the bloodstains on his shirt, booted feet on the table and cigarette carelessly hanging from his lips as he stared at the ceiling.

"Failed insurrection?"

"Aren't they all these days?" the man grunted, blowing smoke into the air. "Doesn't stop me from partaking, of course, but losing battle after battle grows tiresome rather swiftly."

"I can imagine," Courfeyrac hesitantly moved forward, knowing in his head that this would be the right time to embrace the other man but Bahorel was rather more…well…he could probably hurt Courfeyrac if he tried.

Not that he would, of course, but…

Courfeyrac decided rather harshly that his brain needed to stop talking and he threw his arm around the other man's shoulders, getting a rakish smile in return.

"You have some uncommon luck to make it through so many fights unscathed," Courfeyrac let his arm drape there and Bahorel looked thoroughly unconcerned.

"Perhaps. Luck or skill, maybe, but there's nothing like the thrill of a fight," his eyes flashed as he seemed to get lost in his thoughts, and Courfeyrac quietly slipped away, eyes roving around the space until he caught sight of Grantaire seated at a nearby table, bottle of wine in his hand and looking more than a little intoxicated.

It probably helped that he attempted to stand up when Courfeyrac walked over and had to grab onto the other man for balance, but Courfeyrac would consider it a hug and he helped seat the other man before he could fall onto the floor.

It wasn't as if it were easy to find Grantaire sober, after all, so it would have to do.

000

He knew the last two would be the most difficult

Truth be told he was considering leaving Enjolras out altogether, because he risked bodily harm and no challenge was worth that.

But Feuilly was almost as hard for him to figure out, albeit in a greatly different way.

His chance came a few evenings later, the café empty and near-dark for the night save for one man seated in the twilight. "Evening," he called to announce his presence, getting the barest look of recognition.

The other man's entire body was telling Courfeyrac to stay away, but since he was hardly one to abide by conventions he ignored that and sat down near him. "Is something the matter?"

"The weather," Feuilly grunted, not looking at Courfeyrac, and he'd hardly noticed it all day in classes but yes, it had been cold and dreary and rain-soaked. "It's rather hard to make any profit when the streets are empty and I can't very well sell a fan that's gotten wet, can I?"

Courfeyrac wasn't sure how to respond to this, because it was his eternal problem with conversing with Feuilly. Their worlds were so different that he was always cautious about choosing his words, not wanting to come off as complaining about his own life when, truth be told, he had very little _to _complain about.

"Ignore me, my friend," Feuilly sighed heavily. "It's hardly uncommon for me to go hungry, but if I want to keep a roof over my head for the next month I may have to forego dinner this evening," he wrapped his arms around himself, hunched forward in his seat, threadbare coat much too worn and thin for the chill in the air.

"Come with me. I'll buy us both dinner," Courfeyrac spoke the words before he realized what a mistake he was making and Feuilly glanced up angrily.

"I don't need your charity."

"It's hardly charity," Courfeyrac forced himself to stand firm, his conviction not wavering. "And if it truly bothers you that much you can pay me back once you have the money, but I'm not going to let one of my friends go hungry when I can ensure that he doesn't."

Feuilly looked as if he were about to argue before he held his palms upward as if in surrender, seemingly knowing that it was hopeless to try and resist. "You're a very persuasive man, Courfeyrac."

"I pride myself on it," Courfeyrac stood and gestured toward the door. "Come, I know a place where we can get a good meal for very little money."

Feuilly nodded and got to his feet, setting his cap on his head, and Courfeyrac took the distraction to take his chance and embraced the other man, feeling him stiffen in his arms.

"Something wrong?" he asked carefully, and Feuilly shook his head and moved to hold Courfeyrac rather firmly in return.

"No, don't mind me, it's just…I don't think anybody has hugged me in years," he laughed, the sound strained and painful, and Courfeyrac might have held him a little tighter after that.

000

He very quickly decided that it wasn't worth risking life and limb to hug Enjolras, so one day after their customary weekly meeting he brushed his fingers over the other man's shoulder on his way out, not waiting to see what his reaction would be (if, that is, he'd noticed at all).

Still, he considered his challenge fulfilled, and he whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way down the street.

-It's been a long time since I've written fic like this with all the boys, and my style's probably changed a lot since I used to write about them, but I hope this was okay. It was a lot of fun to write, regardless :) -


End file.
